Talking to myself in the shower (again)

I can’t be the only person who has conversations (or let’s be honest, arguments-that-I-win) with imaginary people while taking a shower, right?

For this morning’s installment, I was a high school teacher again - talking to parents at Back-to-School night (an event that was universally dreaded by all us teachers in the math department - introverts and extroverts alike. (Though, I think we fit the stereotypical mold of being introverts.) All we had was 10 minutes with each of our classes' parents to share what we do. But honestly, when you teach math most parents know what you do, and they just want to corner you into talking about their student. So imagine a bunch of introverts doing their level best to fill 10 minutes of time with meaningful information to avoid one-on-one talk with a bunch of strangers, and you’ll understand why we were always stressed out about this event.)

In any case, my talk went something like this:

“Hi, good evening everybody. Thanks for coming out tonight. It’s been great meeting your students and I think we’ve gotten off to a good start. I’ve even heard from a couple students that they feel like they are "getting" math for the first time ever! Which is all very good and if it’s because of me then *patting myself on the back* Go Me!

[we all chuckle here, because honestly, that's kinda ridiculous]

"But really, I don’t put much stock in these kind of comments anymore, for two reasons: First, I’ve noticed that many of these same students are floundering at the end of the year, and I’m still doing what I’m doing. Which could mean that I’m being ineffective, but I really think that something else is going on. Which brings me to my second point: neuroplasticity.

"See, at the beginning of the year, we’re mostly reviewing math from the previous year. The kids who already understood this material see this time for what it is: review. But the kids who struggled with these concepts before are now finally “getting it”. They may understand that we’re doing review but back when these concepts were first introduced they were like square pegs trying to fit in all the circular holes in their brains. And if you ever believed that your kid’s brain was full of holes, you will see that this makes sense.

[insert parental chuckling here]

"But here is where the theory of neuroplasticity comes in. Neuroplasticity says that our brains *actually*, physically change in response to new stimuli. There is research that shows that the brain physically rearranges itself in order to learn how to read.** At first, these square concepts hit the round holes in the brain. But over time, the brain reshapes itself into square holes! For some kids, it can happen right away. But for other kids, it can take weeks or months (like a summer holiday, anyone?). But the point is, the brain CAN change! And it DOES. It just takes some time.

"What I really find fascinating about this though, is that when we hand a kid a “square” concept - like a new math algorithm, or whatnot - a neurotypical kid can look at that, discover that it’s “square” and then reshape their brain into square holes. We hand them squares and they say, “Ooops. I need square holes to fit this in.” So what then happens with a kid who is neuro-atypical? Do we hand them squares and they think they’re getting carrots? Or do we hand them square pegs and that is what they receive but it’s all kinda overshadowed by the fact that the square is covered in purple and screaming like a banshee?

[and here I start to sing]

"It was a one-eyed, one-horned screaming purple algorithm…

"I mean, that would be a lot to process!”

And (blessedly) that’s as far as I got before my two-year-old came knocking on the door, looking for “Mommy!!” *sigh* Shower time over. But just as well, I was running out of material. And, as we all know, you don’t want dead time when you’re talking to parents on Back-to-School night.


**I learned this from the book “Proust and the Squid” by Maryanne Wolf

Plan Your Year vs. Put Your Year on Autopilot: my thoughts and a review

I was given an advance copy of Pam Barnhill's Plan Your Year in exchange for my honest review. I was not required to write a positive review or compensated in any other way, and all opinions expressed are my own.

So the other day an Instagrammer asked, “If you were a teacher before homeschooling, why did you decide to homeschool your children?” There were lots of answers that I held in common with the other respondents, but I had to be honest and say that, well, God kinda made up my mind for me.

So once the decision was made, my next question became “How do I plan for this?” One might think that my background in education would more than prepare me for the task at hand, but really, it did not. I never had to pick my curriculum, I never had to teach more than one subject! Plus, I had always joked that there was a reason that I taught high school and not elementary - after 56 minutes I could say, “Bye bye!” and start with a new, fresh batch of students. (In retrospect, this is probably not a good reason to state out loud.)

Thankfully, a benefit of being slow to make a decision was that I was able to learn about many different resources for new homeschoolers - chief of which was Pam Barnhill’s book: Plan Your Year. I used her first edition of the book to plan our year when we were still “playing” at homeschooling (because our oldest was still just in preschool) and it was a wealth of information. Then over a year ago, Pam released her “Put Your Homeschool On Autopilot” course and I decided to give that a shot, since this would be the year that we would no longer be “playing” but doing this homeschool-thang for real.  And that was a good decision. Using her e-course was instrumental for me having the confidence to tackle this past school year with a baby, a preschooler and as a “first-year teacher”. Because if there’s one thing that has helped me by being a former public school teacher, it’s this: I *know* what being a first-year teacher is like. (Spoiler alert: It’s not easy.)

In my opinion, the “Autopilot” course was mostly her e-book read aloud, but I think that was its strength. I liked having each chapter broken down into “module” form, with corresponding worksheets. I liked listening to Pam’s southern accent. And I knew that if I worked each module from beginning to end, I would have my year all planned out.

Then I received an email that Pam was releasing Plan Your Year, 2nd edition - with more material, more contributors and new snazzy forms! So how did it stack up against the old book/online course?

Well, Pam herself says, “PYY includes more options and spreads a wider feast of ideas about homeschool planning so you can pick and choose. Autopilot is video-based and hyper-focused on one method of planning that will help you plan an entire year in a few sittings. All of the material in Autopilot is included in Plan Your Year -- you just have to hunt for it.” This is 100% accurate. I appreciated reading the guest contributors’ ideas in each chapter (my favorites were Amy Milcic’s “How to use a Homeschool Vision Board for Inspiration” and Mystie Winkler’s “Break Week and Why It’s Vital to Your Sanity”) but in some ways the “wider feast of ideas” actually made it harder to digest.

Maybe Pam noticed this as well because each chapter closes with Action Items that are clear and concise, along with the corresponding forms. I found that when I got to these Action Items, if there was any lingering confusion/overwhelm from reading the "wealth of ideas," then the list brought things back into focus. Ah... peace and purpose restored.

And that’s really the point right? I’m planning the year so I can have peace that what I’ve chosen will accomplish the purposes I’ve set out for it. To that end, Plan Your Year is an excellent resource for the new homeschooler, or the “I’m-wondering-if-I’ve-really-got-this” homeschooler - and I’ve been both.

When Survival Mode Meets Lent

I've been plagued by feelings of inefficiency this week. (Of course, by "this week" I mean "since Fire Baby was born" but you know,  let's not exaggerate here). More and more I'm becoming aware of the Things-I-Should-Be-Doing but for whatever reason am not, and it's got me down. Things like: meal planning, reading actual books, getting steps, drinking water, praying, smiling at my kids/spouse, planning ahead... I feel like I could go on, but even as I create this list my brain is seizing up.

And that's my problem, I have a thought, "Add this to my shopping list/calendar/to do list" and before I can write it down, I forget. Both to write it down and to actually do it. Oftentimes, the reason is a kid's need. But if I'm being honest, many times it's also just me being distracted. So I'm making my way through my days getting the stuff done that needs to be done (eat/wash/school/buy food/sleep (ha!)/repeat) but never making any headway on those "things that need to be done" (see above). The treading water metaphor comes to mind.

This is why I'm so grateful for the time my husband gives me on Sunday afternoon. I can do my  "Scholé Every Sunday" or just catch up on that nagging stuff. Unfortunately, more and more my Sunday afternoons are spent doing business, and less and less being spent on scholé.

I've already cleared some commitments off my plate - ones that clearly needed to be passed off for my health and family's happiness - but once you've done that, what else do you do? Just wait for the baby to start sleeping through the night? For the oldest child to turn 10 years old (the year when it supposedly "gets easier" according to this story) Ever since my 40th birthday this past February it's become a more and more urgent thought that I need to "get on with this" and not wait for some mythical day where everything's perfect, and the meaningful things in life happen consistently and with a cute mug of tea in hand.

View this post on Instagram

The closest thing I've had to #motherculture in...a millennia it seems! Props to @living_book_press for providing the reading material 📖😍

A post shared by Sara Rooney (@rooney.sara) on Apr 5, 2019 at 1:57pm PDT

(Though if the meaningful things do happen you can still have the cute mug o'tea)

I guess what I'm trying to say here is:
1. I feel old.
2. I feel tired.
3. I feel bogged down with the demands of life.
BUT I'm going to try very hard to not let these thoughts get me down.

It's also why I was so very grateful to find Ginny from Not So Formulaic and her Lenten study.  Her insight that "our Lenten obligation is in many ways met by the vocation of wife and mom," was the grace-filled word that I needed to hear. Lent this year arrived in the thick of all the feelings that I already had about not doing enough. I was (am) living in survival mode, and now, somehow, I have to do more? Pray *more*? Give *more*? Fast *more*? Well, yes... but No. I'm already fulfilling many of the obligations of Lent simply by being a mom of littles who are still quite dependent on me for everything. Instead, I needed a mind-shift: Lent is about "remembering ourselves back into the love of God" (a line from Laura at Mothering Spirit - who also spoke grace-filled words that I needed to hear). And remembering sounds like a spiritual practice that I can do.

So this Lent I've tried to remember the things that matter and move forward no matter how imperfectly I ended up doing it. Some weeks I woke up early and prayed a rosary (half-asleep with a recording - but a bad rosary is better than no rosary, right?) Some weeks I served my family by actually filling out the meal plan in advance. Some days I was able to fast from complaining (and some days not so much). Every Sunday of Lent I've done my "Every Sacred Sunday" journal and a little reading before doing the fiddly business of errands and such. Upon reflection, I see how God has used this time to lift my head from staring at my feet on the treadmill/waters that surround (choose whichever metaphor you prefer). It feels like coming up for air and finding myself inside the glorious lightness of grace.

God is good.

So good that as Lent comes to a close I'm finding myself thinking that the things I've "given up and taken up" I will continue to take up and give up. I'm not looking forward to Easter so that things can go back to normal. (Or as my son asked earlier this week, "When Easter comes can we give up Lent?") I'm looking forward to celebrating the Life Abundant that Jesus Is. You've read it here first: this year may go down in the books as the year I learned that Lent need not be dreaded. Which is good, because dreading something takes a lot of energy and now that I'm on the other side of the hill the words of Kimberly "Sweet Brown" Wilkins come to mind...

"Ain't nobody got time for that." 😎

What the what? (a.k.a. Life's little interruptions)

Last week I posted a picture of my cat on Instagram...

We interrupt your Instagram feed to bring you this stunningly gorgeous photo of my cat. #catsofinstagram #kennnnnneeeeetttttttt ( @amydfitzpatrick )

A post shared by Sara Rooney (@rooney.sara) on Aug 2, 2018 at 7:03am PDT

Turns out people don't mind their IG feed being interrupted by my cat as much as *I* mind my sleep being interrupted by my cat. Funny how that works.

So anyway, I was just going to go to sleep (notice the theme here?) when I got an email from my lovely internet friend, Alicia, saying that voting for the SHEENAZING Awards was up, and she was nominated! (Not just once, mind you, but 4 times!!) (She is that great, btw. Check her out and do vote for her)

Of course, you may be wondering what the Sheenaze is a Sheenazing Award - and that is ok, dear reader - for this person will tell you exactly what it is. And why should I steal their thunder?

But the point here is that I, too, was also nominated - and holy schmoly - look who I got sandwiched between!

Well, that's it. Sleep is not going to happen here tonight, y'all!!! I'm far too excited! The folks on this list are the REAL DEAL. And I'm not quite sure how I got to be counted in their company (actually, I do know, and all four of my votes are going to her.)

So here's the real point - and I'll try not to be too sappy - but it's not too much of a stretch to say that this blog wouldn't exist if it weren't for the Sheenazing Awards. It was 2015 and I was happily reading my from my handful of totally Christian (but not Catholic blogs) when one of them was nominated for a Sheenazing Award. And of course, like you, I wondered what in the world that was, so I clicked on the link and found Bonnie... and then Kendra... then Haley... then Mary... then Kelly... then Rosie... then Alicia... then Shannon... then Laura... and on and on and on. I had no idea that Catholic blogs existed! Which of course also meant that I had no idea that Catholic *bloggers* existed - and therein lies the rub. The Sheenazing Award is a huge touchstone on my path to why I'm "Catholic Again" because prior to finding these lovely women, I didn't know that one could be Catholic AND in love with Jesus AND younger than 45 (gosh I hesitate to write that last part, but shoot there it is). My experience with Catholics who truly loved Jesus was *very* limited - and whenever I contemplated returning to the Church all I could think of was how lonely I would be, what with age difference and all. But these awards showed me that there were women, Catholic women, my age, who loved Christ! Far more than I ever realized - and that gave me hope. It was just one more way of God reaching out to me and saying, "I see you. You will never be alone."

So be encouraged! And be uplifted! If God sees me, then most assuredly God sees you too. And hey, maybe all it takes is a little Sheenazing for us to become convinced of that truth.

Do learn more about the Sheenazing Awards here - and if you feel so inclined - cast your vote, too!

The Year in Review - 2017

Maybe it's just me, but 2017 has felt longer than a normal year. And yet, it wasn't quite long enough to get certain things done. Alas, isn't that how we often feel at the end of things? That we didn't have enough time to do the things that really should have been done? I hope I'm not the only one with this feeling - but more importantly, I hope there's grace for folks like me who probably didn't spend time correctly. Oh, wait, there is! It's called tomorrow: where there are mercies new every morning.

Even mornings when you wake up to fire and smoke.

But before I turn the page on 2017, I'd like to share some of the highlights of my year - at least according to the social media I was on. (Look carefully and you might notice a theme!)

#2017bestnine on Instagram

And the winner here is... Fire Baby! No surprise, really, as he was the best gift of the year. But in a bit more detail (going from top left to bottom right):
1. sharing a My Sunday Best reflection on the week after Fire Baby was born
2. Fire Baby on his birth day
3. 400 pounds of Fire Baby cuteness pinning me to the couch
4. an in utero profile pic of (you guessed it) Fire Baby
5. our Butterball Fire Baby wishing everyone a Happy Thanksgiving
6. Not pregnant! Drinking tea! Wearing my mom-iform! #thatpostpartumlife
7. a "Bumpie" in the bathroom while on a little getaway with the hubby in Scotland
8. Costco shopping with mom really wiped the little dude out. I guess.
9. Fire Baby's baptism!

I'm not sure how we'll top this in 2018 - I guess by taking more pictures of Fire Baby?? 😂

The Top 3 Posts on this here blog

So, who is this Fire Baby, you ask? Well, the number one viewed post on my blog was his birth story, and the second most viewed post was his birth announcement. Third up was a reflection on God's provision, but I have a sneaky suspicion that the picture of my baby bump may have had something to do with that (as it seems that social media likes babies!). So again, if I had plans to make things bigger and better on this here place, I guess I'm going to have to include more posts on/about Mr. Fire Baby. 
Either that, or get pregnant again! 😜

How did that (fill-in-the-blank) work out for you?

I'm not usually one for making resolutions or goals, but I do have one tradition of setting a goal for reading a certain number of books: this year it was a book a month, plus one:

 Looks like I fizzled out sometime around October... Gee I wonder why? #iblamethebaby #orthefires #orboth #betterlucknextyear

I also did a word for the year and a patron saint - and oddly - I wrote all of that up in a post that I never published. (I wonder why? It was a decent post!) In any case, my patron saint was Our Lady of Guadalupe and this was so fitting as she is also the patron saint of the unborn and I definitely felt her prayers during Fire Baby's birth.

My "word" for the year was (ha ha) GOALS - which I think I failed miserably with as I neither met my one goal above, nor made any to aspire to. I think I will have to do better this year, so I shall now turn to the internet to give me both my WORD and PATRON SAINT for 2018:

My word is:

Ooo. Striking. I want to make fun of this word, but somehow, I feel like it will be appropriate. I shall let it sit and ruminate on it a bit. There could be some wisdom in here.


My patron saint will be:

OK. This is so not cool. I actually did this a week or so ago with the kids and back then it picked a saint for me that was also the patron saint of those who have lost a spouse. And now this?? (And her name is just a feminized version of my husband's name?!)

I am officially weirded out. Someone needs to go talk to Jennifer Fulweiler about getting some better saints in her generator.

Alllll-righty! Well! This post took quite a turn for the strange and unsettling - so to close, I'll bring it back to something I know social media loves: Fire Baby!

Happy new year to you and thanks, as always, for reading. 💗

(Now can someone please hold my hand and tell me everything will be alright? Cuz that saint thing was really spooky!)

Fire Baby - Matthew's birth story

This is actually a two part post of my experiences during the Santa Rosa fires - for part 1 click here. In this part we learn of new fires and (if you couldn't guess from the title) have a baby.

October 14

A new fire starting up to the east of us

The kids playing (unironically) on a fire truck at a nearby park.

This day was odd. One the one hand, this new fire that popped up truly made us think about evacuating for real, but on the other hand we had some of the best air quality out of the whole week because of the direction of the wind. So we stayed on alert but also at home. We also decided to go to vigil mass at our cathedral instead of our home parish - which turned out to be slightly fortuitous (I guess) as the next day our parish was in a mandatory evacuation zone.

October 15

No church means more Lego time

With no church to go to on Sunday morning (because, again, we had gone the night before, not because it burned down!) we were all feeling a little bit "off". We received an invite from a friend to head down south again - but neither Paul nor I were feeling up to the travel. And again, this turned out to be fortuitous as at about 2pm I started having sensations that I thought were gas pains. When I was still having them at 4pm I realized they weren't gas pains, but I still wasn't willing to call them "contractions" though they were about 30-45 seconds long and coming every 7-10 minutes. In any case, I called my midwife to let her know what was up and she conceded that I could very well be in early labor. I did not like this news, so she gave me some things I could do try and slow the labor train down: drink water, put my feet up (i.e. rest), take a bath or shower, have a glass of wine. (Ooo! A glass of wine? Yes, please! Only problem: I had no wine in the house. Enter Big Sister to the rescue! She brought over a lovely bottle of pinot gris.) I tried all of these things to no avail. By 8pm things were definitely picking up the pace and I was emotionally a wreck - texting friends and even acquaintances asking for prayers that baby boy would stay put. In my mind there were so many good reasons to not have a baby just then - things like:

• we had no diapers yet (but thanks to Amazon Prime, I would have them in 2 days)
• we had no bassinet/crib (yet)
• there was no birth center, and only 1 hospital in Santa Rosa still open
• oh, and fire with all its accompanying smoke

But I needed to call the midwife again and let her know things were not slowing down - so I did, and received a welcome piece of news: they decided to open up the birth center early for us. I broke down crying at this news - I was so grateful. It was funny - this whole pregnancy, whenever anyone asked where we would go for the birth I always responded "Lord willing, we'll go to the Birth Center." I'm so glad the Lord was willing! But I knew it still wasn't time for us to head over to the center just yet. But at least when I hung up the phone a part of my heart and mind were at rest.

My sister, who was kind enough to supply the wine, went home but stayed on call and I went to bed. My previous labors have been 43 hours and 30ish hours, so I was sure I'd be in for a long night and wanted to get as much rest as I could. Rest wasn't in the cards though. As I laid there the contractions continued to come, but something was changing: I'd have 2 or 3 that I could handle just fine, but then I'd have a really big one where all I could do to cope was shake my leg (much like a dog's leg will spasm when it's dreaming - such an attractive picture, I know). After one such contraction, I received the words that would become my mantra for the rest of the labor, "Pass through". I don't know where these words came from, but they turned out to be a premonition of what I would really need to have happen, and I would repeat them over and over whenever a contraction came. This pattern of 2-3 "easy" contractions and 1 "big" contraction continued to build in intensity until I had one that knocked the wind out of me - and that's when I told Paul we needed to get to the Birth Center. This was about 10:30pm. So the midwife was called and the sister was called back and we got in the car.

Again, that 1 mile drive to the center was just the worst. I don't know how any laboring woman can stand to have a drive longer than 5 minutes to get to wherever they're birthing. Car rides are just the pits! We arrived at the same time as our midwife, who was fully decked out in scrubs and her N95. She checked me and I measured 5cm - which was both welcome and a bit disappointing. Welcome, because that meant I could be admitted, but disappointing because I thought for sure I'd be farther along. In any case, we made our way back to the birthing rooms, and because I had the choice, I chose to be in the same room where I had delivered both the wee girl and the little dude. Having that continuity was comforting and I needed all the comfort I could get.

When I labor, I like things to be dark, quiet and warm. Oh, and also new for this labor, I liked to have my barf bowl next to me at all times. So basically then, the things that I remember are the times when one of the "rules" were "violated". Like when I had to ask Paul 3 or 4 times for my bowl. I got so mad at him for taking it away, and then I got doubly mad at him for making me have to talk to him to get it back. I mean, after 2 labors with me he still can't read my mind?!? Sheesh, man.

(It wasn't actually this dark, but you get the idea. Turn up the volume to hear baby's heartbeat!)

Anyway, once the midwife checked me in and took my vitals, she and the student midwife left us to "work". I wanted to lie down on the bed, so I did and worked on saying my mantra and breathing through the contractions. But at some point, I couldn't even say my mantra anymore and that was when the midwives came back into the room. The student midwife was truly wonderful, very professional, always explaining exactly what she was doing - but because she was breaking my "quiet" rule I started to get really irritated. At one point, when I thought they were gone, I asked Paul, "Could you please tell the midwives not to talk to me?" not knowing that they were actually in the room. When I found that out later, it made me really glad that I had said what I did and not what I was thinking which was, "Can you tell her to shut up?" (That would have been awkward!)

At midnight, the midwives checked me again and this time I was fully dialated; so they offered to break my bag of waters, in the hopes of moving the labor along. But I refused - not because I wanted a repeat performance of the waterworks at little dude's birth - but because having my bag of waters broken for the wee girl's birth was something that I had always kinda regretted. So I said no and continued to have really painful contractions that didn't seem to do much of anything to get the baby out. The midwives suggested I sit on a birthing ball (a big NOPE), and then go sit on the toilet (another NOPE but it was a bit better than the ball). The birthing stool was brought out and that was somewhat helpful - but the big problem this time around was that while I could feel a whole lotta pain, I couldn't actually feel when I was doing an effective push. So I would push 3 or 4 times and on that last push the midwife would finally say, "There! Yes! Do another one just like that!" Except I didn't know what I was doing any different than the way that I had been pushing before, plus, I was so tired from those pushes that I needed to rest and wait for the next contraction. At which point, the cycle of ineffective pushes would start again.

I started to pace back and forth in the room, almost like a caged animal, and more than once I wondered if I was going to be able do this. When the midwives offered to break my bag of waters again at sometime around 1:30am, I said yes enthusiastically and almost frantically. Get this baby out!!

The relief I felt as the bag broke was wonderful, but short-lived. Very quickly we were back to painful contractions and ineffective pushes. I threw up once... then twice. As my midwife shared, "Some women vomit their babies out". And that had definitely been my experience. After the second time, I remember feeling somewhat encouraged because with my other labors the baby was delivered shortly after the second spew. But it was not to be. I just couldn't figure out how to effectively push this baby who seemed very unwilling to budge. Finally the midwife and I hit on a strategy that worked - as long as she had two fingers pressing on my cervix I could focus on where I needed to direct my energy and my pushes would be effective. Of course, now her fingers were in the way of the baby's head creating a ridiculous Catch-22 situation. "Pass through" indeed! But I was finally making some progress - some very slow and hard-won progress.

With my previous 2 labors, the work up to the pushing stage was long and arduous, but the actual pushing was only 30-45 minutes - jubilation! Once again, this was different: I pushed for about 3 hours and it was (dare I say it?) horrible. The pain was just getting worse and worse, and even though they told me baby was coming, I didn't feel it. Plus I was getting frantic and I remember crying out, "Can you just reach in and pull him out?!" (Though I don't remember an answer to that request.) And forget "working noises". This was an all-out fight to get this baby earth-side complete with Wonder Woman-esque battle cries.

I prefer this image over what was probably the reality.

When I finally got baby's head out I expected to feel the slip and slide of the rest of his body - but again - this was not to be. One of the midwives (either the student or the attending, I can't remember) exclaimed, "Sunny side up!" and the other said, "Just a few more pushes..." All I could think was, "MORE?! He's supposed to just slide out now!" Turns out "sunny side-up" is just a poor euphemism for "hard as hell". (Ok, no, it isn't but whatever.) Finally - finally - at 4:30am, all of baby's 19 inches came out and we welcomed Matthew Francis with cries of relief and joy.

When I met Matthew I was surprised by his dark hair, red skin, and cries. They were strong and MAD! I couldn't blame him, and in fact I wanted to tell him "Dude, the feeling's mutual," but then he opened his eyes and I was stunned by the clarity and intensity in them already! All I could think was, "He is a smart one!" The rest of the morning was quiet and uneventful, so at 8:30 we were discharged and ready to go home. Stepping outside the smoke in the sky made a sun as red as my little one when I first laid eyes on him.

October 16

Anniversary cards, still in the plastic! We'll put heartfelt messages
in them next year.

We brought our little "fire baby" home on our 9th wedding anniversary - our Matthew - truly a "gift of God" to us.

A Week in Pictures - October 9th - 16th (Part 1)

This ol' blog has been quiet as of late, I know. I seem to remember back at the beginning of this latest pregnancy making a statement about "getting back to writing" more often - and wow, that didn't happen! This pregnancy was definitely the most difficult of the 3 so far: the worst "morning" sickness, odd and transient food aversions, and the most uncomfortable.  That last one, by the way, is what I blame the lack of writing on: I couldn't sit at a desk or table for more than 15 minutes without inducing really bad "tightness" (for lack of a better word).  And then October came.

So much has happened this month, with the majority of that stuff happening in the one-week span from the 9th to the 16th. I've tried to be vague on this blog about where I live - being on the internet and all - but I can't talk about this particular week and remain vague since our town was all over the news that week. (Look at me still trying to remain non-descript!) So while I could factually tell you all the things, what I really want to do is share how they affected me. Because it both was and wasn't like how it was shared on CNN or BBC - at least not for us - and the last thing I want to do is participate in sensationalism.

To be sure, we were scared. So scared, that it took us nearly 4 days before we realized that we lived *across the street* from the emergency responders' Headquarters. They would not have made that place their headquarters if they were worried about it being burned down. Or at the very least, as my sister observed, if we see them packing up and heading out then that would be a very good sign that we should do the same. No need to frantically look at our phones every time a text message came in.

Which again, to be honest, I wasn't doing anyway. We all deal with crisis differently: some folks want to tune in to the local news source and be in the know at all times, and some want the tv/radio/phone to be off unless absolutely needed. Fortunately, in our home Paul landed in the former camp and I was part of the latter group. It was a good division of responsibilities. I was able to stay responsive to the family's needs and Paul was able to keep us informed/educated as needed.

I regret that maybe in some ways this made me make light of a situation that was truly dire for some. I hope those hurt will accept my apology for attempting to bring levity when a shoulder, tears and kleenex would have been more appropriate.

So, until I can pull my thoughts together, I thought I would rely on the "picture is worth a thousand words" addage... and hope that it doesn't communicate more than intended.

October 9

The view from our front door at 6am

We stayed home that day.

October 10

Photo: KITV news

I chose this picture for 2 reasons: first, this was the only picture I could find that showed the color of the sky all day on the 10th. Obviously, we stayed home. But the cooped up animals in the picture were much like our children on day 2 of staying inside. Both were clamoring to get out (of the smoke/house). What I liked to say was that on day 1 of being inside all day, my children played constructively, but on day 2 they played destructively. So by day 3 both animals and children got their wish (in case you were wondering).

October 11

Reminding ourselves of truth... one of the ways that I was grateful for a homeschool routine that we could keep while everything else was uncertain.

The park we escaped to on day 3

Not perfect air quality to the south, but certainly a lot better than where we were.

October 12

From our front door again. Escaped south for the day again.

Can I just say I love my neighbors? It's been a stressful week, and no, we're still not out of this, but if you can't laugh at yourself... Well, then it'll really be a long haul. Grateful for this community and how we're looking out for each other. ❤ #santarosastrong

A post shared by Sara Rooney (@rooney.sara) on Oct 12, 2017 at 8:50pm PDT

October 13

Who's got 4 thumbs and a face mask? This gal!

While at this appointment we discussed what would happen in the event I should go into labor while the Birth Center was closed - we all thought that would be extremely unlikely, as I was only at 37 weeks - but I thought it would still be prudent to ask. Bottom line: if I went into labor I would have to go to the only hospital that was still open, and only maybe would I get to have a midwife with me. Needless to say, this was not what I wanted to hear... but no worries, right? 37 weeks! We're fine...

It's not "participating in sensationalism" to split this into 2 posts, right? Hope so. Part 2 to come soon!

The Lord Will Provide - My Sunday Best - 08

I'm sitting here on my bed typing this up, listening to my little dude pound the wall with his... feet? Head? Hands? I'm not sure, but whatever he's using he's doing so with great force and gusto. Much like in this picture below:

So please forgive me if, at the moment, my only thought is "Lord, please provide at least an hour's nap so we may all have an enjoyable evening."

*sigh*

Skirt: it was a maxi skirt that I picked up at Costco... seems to get shorter every week
Shirt: Old Navy Maternity
Shoes: just some flats from Target
Bump: 29 weeks

We had a guest priest from India today, here to do an appeal for the missions work that he's a part of back in Calcutta. We also brought our lovely niece with us to Mass too, and at one point she looked at me and asked (in hushed tones) "Auntie, what language is he speaking?" (Me: LOL!) His accent was a little thick, but I think the novelty of it helped keep the kiddos quiet (well, it was that or the extra coloring materials their cousin brought with her) because I was actually able to listen to most of the homily today!

The Gospel was the story of the Caannanite woman, who's persistance and iconic line about even dogs getting the scraps from their master's table, made Jesus exclaim "O woman, great is your faith!" Father used this line as the jumping off point for talking about other people with great faith - notably St Theresa of Calcutta and also Abraham. The story that stuck with me was Abraham's. In Father's retelling of Abraham obeying God's command and offering Isaac as a sacrifice, he said that Abraham's only prayer through the whole ordeal was what he also told Isaac, "The Lord will provide." Abraham didn't tell Isaac, "God has asked me to kill you and I'm just not going to do it." Nor did he say, "Sometimes God asks us to do hard things. And right now, even though I love you greatly, I'm going to offer you as a sacrifice because I love and fear God more." He only said, "The Lord will provide," and continued forward with the plan.

Who can say what was really going through Abraham's head? The writer of Hebrews posits that Abraham must have believed that even if he killed Isaac, God would raise him from the dead (Heb 11:17-19). But I wonder. If it's true, what Father said, that the only prayer on Abraham's lips for the 3 days he journeyed to Moriah was "The Lord will provide," well then, that sounds far more like a desprate cry of the heart to me. And in those moments of desparation - where all I can do is say the same prayer over and over again - you can be sure I'm not using my spiritual imagination to think up ways that God can answer my prayer. I'm just hoping beyond hope that He *will* answer my prayer before it's too late.

The closest I've ever come to that kind of desparation was when I was in labor with the little drummer above. It was a natural, unmedicated labor that was becoming far more intense (for me) than the labor that I experienced with his sister. Close to the end, I had what I can only describe as an epiphany, "We're not both going to make it through this. One of us is going to die."

(I will pause here to mention that midwives are very familiar with this kind of talk from laboring women - and in fact, they take it as a very good sign that labor will actually be over very soon. So everyone present was prepared and ready to go for that last important push.)

But back to me. In that moment, I knew I had to choose: either I give up and my baby would die, or I push through and I die. To me, there was no third way. And I remember (wildly, desparately) thinking "God I hope your offer of eternal life is true... because I so want to see this baby grow up."

Father's encouragement was that when we make that sacrifice, God will meet us there and say to us what he said to the Caannanite woman: "O woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish." (Matt 15:28)

I don't think Father meant for this to be some version of a prosperity gospel - where you can "sacrifice" something in order to gain something better from God - as his examples of Abraham and St Theresa were profound enough to (hopefully) discourage that kind of thinking. Rather I think he was acknowledging the spiritual reality that God meets us in our moments of desparation and confirms what we madly hope in faith to be true: that God does actually love each one of us and desires life - real life - for us all. We may not know what that's going to look like, but if we can trust Him, we know it will be good.

Join Rosie over at her place - she's canning and freezing and basically making hay while the sun shines - oh, and she's the one who hosts My Sunday Best too. It'd be good to say hi. :)

(not exactly) Library (but still a whole lotta) Love - UK Edition!

Do you have a particular topic of conversation that, no matter how many times it comes up, you always seem to bumble through it? I always feel like a bit of a dope when I talk to people about my husband because usually at some point in the conversation, I have to share that he's Scottish (cause otherwise the next part of the story won't make sense or something like that). And 90% of the time, that piece of news is met with "Oh yeah! I've got some Scottish in me too." To which I then need to clarify, "No I mean he's really Scottish. Like from the UK." It seems such a simple clarification to make, and I don't know why, but after nearly 9 years of marriage I still flub it by saying weird/awkward things like "Yeah, fresh off the boat!" as if he were a catch of Atlantic salmon or something. (When will I be able to figure this out?)

But speaking of flubbing things - how's that for an intro? Uh... yeah! We are currently in Scotland visiting my in-laws, and for the first time we planned it so that we would be in one spot for the whole of our visit (rather than hopping on to a new place every 4-5 days). I was really hoping this would pan out into a trip to ye olde local library, but so far that hasn't happened and probably won't. Fortunately, my in-laws are library loving folks just like us, so we haven't been at a loss for books to read! These have been our favorites this time around:

Hairy Maclary from Donaldson's Dairy
This one is the little dude's favorite (and it really is more appropriate for the birth to 3 years crowd). Simple rhymes, cute dogs and one "terrible tom" who's caterwaul requires some theatrics from mom to pull off all make for a sweet little read before bed.

There's a Bear on My Chair
Another one for the 0-3 year olds, though saying that, the wee girl enjoyed this one too. Maybe because the mouse's tantrum throwing at the end was very "pigeon-esque"? Or maybe it's because she's really understanding the concept of rhyming words now... or maybe it's the bear? (Or maybe it's just a well written, well-illustrated children's book Sara. Hence the award stickers on the front cover.)

Mr Tickle and the Dragon
You can't come to the UK and not see the Mr. Men and Little Miss books by Roger Hargreaves. They're ubiquitous, and for a while I wondered why - after all, one of my favorite books (on cassette tape!) was Mr Tickle - but then of course, it dawned on me: he's British (Hargreaves that is. Not Mr. Tickle.) Normally I'm not a fan of series that have become so commercialized that even after the author has died, new books keep coming out - but this story is decent and it fits in with the bit of a dragon kick that the wee girl has been on lately. Sooo... keeper.

Sugarlump and the Unicorn, and Fox's Socks
What's a trip to the UK without finding a new book by Julia Donaldson? Her rhymes and stories are just the best. Sugarlump is a story about a rocking horse who wishes he were somewhere else, and eventually learns the old "be careful what you wish for" lesson - but don't worry, it's still a happy ending for him. Fox's Socks is a simple rhyming book, either good for beginning readers or good for the 0-3 crowd (my brother-in-law has an adorable 11 month old, hence all the books for that age range).

I feel slightly bummed that I haven't come across a knock-out hit this time around, but nonetheless these have proved a strong showing. So, like the weather as of late, I really can't complain. ;)

What have you been reading lately?

Living in Bodies and a My Sunday Best

I guess when you think about it - our bodies are really important.

Get used to that outfit folks. I'm currently 17 weeks preggo
and it's just about the only Mass-worthy outfit I gots, so
you're going to be seeing a lot of it

Earlier this week, I picked up my copy of The Catholic Catalogue (my first actual, physical, non-internet reference for how to live like a Catholic), with the intention of reading up on the Ascension which we celebrated today.

Instead, I found myself in the beginning of the book reading about the sign of the cross. You know, that quintessential hand movement that makes Catholics stick out like sore thumbs at any ecumenical prayer meeting or that football players sometimes make after a touchdown? It seems so basic to Catholicism. So fundamental. And yet...

Can I share this in my most quiet, private voice?

I've always had such trouble with it. Not inside the church, of course. It's quite easy to make the sign of the cross when you're standing with a hundred or so others who are making it with you. But outside. With others. Certainly with non-Catholics, but oftentimes with Catholics as well. Heck, we don't even make it at dinner before we say grace. (Which, as you can guess, will now change as a result of this post.)

"But why?" you may ask. "Aren't you, sort of, a cradle Catholic?" Well, yeah. Sort of. I've spent more time in a Catholic church than any other. But you know what the real deal is?

(Lean in close please... cause I'm not really wanting to say this out loud.)

It makes me feel like a fake.

It's a pious action, and I fear it makes me look more pious than I am. It feels like a "holier-than-thou" motion when in the company of Catholics and non-Catholics alike.

So this was my frame of mind when I ran across this passage in The Catholic Catalogue:

"I remember as a teenager sometimes wishing for a disincarnate, less bodily Christianity. I wanted to belong to a church that was less ancient, more modern, less strange. I worried when my parents made the sign of the cross in mixed company that people would think they were superstitious, or uneducated fools. I wanted God to be a private matter. I wanted him to live in my heart, not on my head. Being Catholic was embarrassingly bodily, and I knew that public expressions of religion, like the sign of the cross, were considered poor taste." (emphasis mine)

This woman got me! She might be coming at it from a slightly different place, but she nailed it for me: being Catholic is embarrassingly bodily. From making the sign of the cross, to fasting from meat on Fridays; from using rosary beads while praying, all the way to practicing Natural Family Planning (NFP) instead of using contraception - the Catholic church insists that we are not to ignore how our bodies play into our spirituality (and more than that, it provides guidance on what a holy use of our bodies looks like).

To be honest, this was one of the aspects of Catholicism that drew me back to the Church - it forced me to get out of my head. When I have to physically go somewhere and talk to someone to confess and repent, then forgiveness no longer feels like a mind game. (And, on a related note - it then also happens! Prior to returning to the Catholic church I hardly ever thought about confessing my sins - because, honestly, who ever wants to think about that? - and so, I didn't.)

But this is also the aspect of Catholicism that is the most uncomfortable - because when I use my body to, say, make the sign of the cross, I am immediately communicating to others that I'm playing by different rules. My whole self shrinks back from sticking out like this. I'd like to call it "being sensitive to others" or even "showing by example how to not let ritual get in the way of authentic prayer" - but we all know it's fear. So maybe, maybe, if I remember that the sign of the cross *is* a prayer in of itself; maybe if I remember that "to make the sign of the cross is to say yes to God, yes to the Blessed Trinity, yes to the passion of Christ and the forgiveness of sin" then maybe I can put this fear aside, and step into this reality of new life and being clothed with Christ. Because that is what I really want - from the top of my head, to the tips of my toes.

Brownie points to you for reading to the end - if for no other reason than to find out why in the world I considered this a "My Sunday Best" post... well, isn't it obvious? Bodies, clothes, Catholicism... it's all related, right? Right? Well, should you disagree, head over to Rosie's to see what a real MSB looks like. And thanks for letting me ramble.

4 Weeks Down... 2 to Go!

So, guess what? We are more-than-officially past the halfway point in Lent! Can I get a "Woohoo!" I don't think I have ever been so relieved to see the finish line on the horizon before. This has been just such a "Lent-y" Lent. Translation: I have never felt so physically run down, while simultaneously denying myself the usual comfort measures (caffeine, some kind of baked good, etc...) So, does this mean that my Lenten practices are being effective at helping "mortify the flesh?" Or is it not doing anything mortifying in the least, since all I can focus on is the "mortifying" part and not so much the "spiritual closeness" part? (The jury is still out on this one.)

In any case, I'm taking today to remind myself that even though I'm not quite meeting all the plans I had for myself (like those Friday-Stations of the Cross-picnics? Hasn't happened yet.) this doesn't mean that I'm a failure - and it CERTAINLY doesn't mean that God loves me any less. (And we of course, also know the flipside would be true too: if I *was* meeting all my plans for myself, God wouldn't love me anymore for it either).

It's kind of like an incident that happened at Mass today. After the presentation of the gifts, Father was trying to open the decanter and he just couldn't. He started like normal...
"Blessed are you..."
*yank*
*yanks harder*
*starts to chuckle*
"OK, I'm having a hard time here..."
*pullllllllls*

He was just about to give up, when the altar server got up and pulled the stopper out for him.
(Girl altar server, FTW!)

We were all laughing at that point. It was just too good. Of course, with the decanter freed, we continued on as normal - til the end of Mass, when Father had another surprise for us:

Guess who showed up at Mass today?! #aprilfools #adaylate #mysundaybest

A post shared by Sara Rooney (@rooney.sara) on Apr 2, 2017 at 11:25am PDT

Gotta love our church. Even Father said it (and I'm paraphrasing here), "You know, I could try and keep things serious here, but that just isn't Holy Spirit parish."  Which is true. I mean, we're Catholic - beautiful liturgy, statues, holy water and all. But we also have pink flamingos in the pond next to our meditation garden. *shrug* What ya gonna do? I guess, we just can't be bothered to take ourselves too seriously.

So that's where I'm at, at this point in Lent. Still fasting, praying and giving - but not beating myself up for all the other ways of fasting/praying/giving that I'm not getting done. Lord willing, I'll attempt them before the season is up but regardless, I will rest in the love that He has for me. I hope and pray that will be the "better choice."

On Falling Behind...

Am I the only one who feels like I'm not doing enough of the right things?

I cook. I clean. I shuttle the wee girl to preschool. I try to get us out of the house in the morning. We have a weekly date with the library. I do the grocery shopping and help make/keep the budget.

But.

I fear the kids aren't eating enough any vegetables. I fear the wee girl is having too much screen time. I worry I'm not providing a rich learning/playing environment for the wee ones (read "Crafts? What crafts?") I mean, I freaking gave my boy a full cup of tea this morning. (Oh the look I got from my husband when he found out... not pleased, he was. Not. Pleased.)

The little dude has been pestering me for my tea, so I made him his own cup... I should probably get some decaf for him or this could get ugly! #toddlersoncaffeine #badparenting

A post shared by Sara Rooney (@rooney.sara) on Feb 15, 2017 at 8:39am PST

How does a mom cope with all these things? I mean, really? I'm trying to figure out what to be concerned about and what to let go. But it honestly feels like everything is important and I'm stuck. I don't know what to change, much less how to change.

Lest you (or I) think that's it's all doom and gloom over here, I do like to look at these pictures and remind myself that we all are still growing with and loving each other.

Having fun at the children's museum!

Somehow got color-coordinated for Mass! #mysundaybest

Still nervous to take it out on the *real* street, but I'm learning!

I hope that counts for something? Gotta admit I feel like Kathleen Kelly and "just want to send this cosmic question out into the void," but I'll go ahead and ask:

How do you handle the doubts and struggles of being a parent?